


It Echoes Deep

by argle_fraster



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e20 Beside Still Water, Flashbacks, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: When Alec is fifteen, they sneak out of the Institute to visit a fortune teller's shop just south of Greenwich Village.





	It Echoes Deep

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a SHORT TUMBLR FIC WHY SELF WHY
> 
> Liberties likely taken with Warlocks and their magic. Title from Ruelle's "Where Do We Go From Here?"
> 
> Spoilers (a bit) for Season 2, Episode 20: Beside Still Water, though if you are reading Malec here anyway, you've likely already seen the episode and, like me, still haven't stopped screaming.

When Alec is fifteen, they sneak out of the Institute to visit a fortune teller's shop just south of Greenwich Village. The palm reader is a Warlock, and Izzy is at the obstinate phase between child and teenager, desperate to know what the future has in store.

(Alec isn't an idiot; he searched the Warlock in the archives as soon as Izzy had mentioned her scheme, and after hours of nearly falling asleep against the screen, he finds the woman near the bottom of the data files, which means she isn't very strong and likely won't have much by way of an advantage if things go south.)

Jace only agrees to go with them because it means getting out of the Institute and testing their stealth skills. Alec tells himself that he is only going to look after Izzy, but the _parabatai_ rune is still burning on his side and part of him, a deep, ugly part of him, is equally desperate for answers.

They get to the shop well after dark, in the long and slow evenings of December when the wind is biting and their cheeks are stinging, and the Warlock is about to close up the shop when she sees them and motions them inside. They are tittering and giddy, but Izzy falls quiet, suddenly overcome with the reality of sneaking out on their own to track down a Downworlder who, weak or not, has more ability than they do. They stand for a long second in the entryway of the store, decorated with wind chimes and paintings of three eyes and lay lines, smelling of sandalwood.

The Warlock's eyes sweep over them, taking in the dark runes decorating their skin, but she says nothing; she sits down behind the velvet-covered table and clasps her hands atop the plush. “What can I help you with?”

“We have… questions,” Jace says, glancing at Izzy, whose teeth have snapped shut entirely. “You read the future, right?”

“That depends on what you are asking,” the Warlock says.

“I want to know about my future,” Izzy blurts out, finally, and sits down in one of the spindly folding chairs so quickly Alec fears for a moment that she might have fallen. “I want to know what's going to happen.”

The Warlock spreads her hands wide, palms facing the ceiling. “The future is not set in stone—I can't tell you with certainty what will or will not happen, because it is determined by actions both your own and by others.”

“Then what _can_ you do?” Jace asks, but he, too, sits down, drawn in despite his misgivings. It is only Alec who remains standing, looking around the shop. He notes the shelves of trinkets: tiny statues, incense burners, engraved boxes with gold locking clasps. He sees the almost hiding bright red light of the back exit and files that away in case they need it later. He sees the way the Warlock's fingers are slightly trembling, because she knows who and what they are, and she would be stupid not to be preparing herself the same way that he is.

He thinks it was dangerous to come here, struck for the first time by just how foolish he'd let himself be, but Jace and Izzy are leaning in, entranced, and he lingers just behind them.

“The future is not decided, but there are… certainties about yourselves that will remain constant,” the Warlock says. “Things which you bring with you, and things which have clung to you since birth.”

“Like what?” Izzy asks, eyes wide.

“Paths,” the Warlock explains, though it really explains nothing and she looks like she can't think of a better way to describe it. “You have roads that you might take and places you might explore, people you might meet; those are often set. It is your decisions that alter which one will come to be, and at what time.”

“Warlocks can see this?” Jace asks.

Izzy, shaking with anticipation, leans forward, and the ends of her dark curls brush across the tabletop. “Can you see when people will die?”

“No,” the Warlock says. “That, too, is determined by choices.”

Jace starts sending annoyed glances at Alec, his eyes saying _well, this was a waste of time_ , but then the Warlock pulls out a well-worn deck of Tarot cards, and Jace's attention shifts back to the table. He and Izzy lean in further, breath quickening, but Alec hangs back. He isn't sure he likes where this is going—and his _parabatai_ rune feels like it is burning straight down to his bones in response.

“The… shall we say, _particulars_ of your blood,” the Warlock says, and her gaze flits up to Alec's face for a second (she knows he's the one on edge and he knows that she is fully aware of the convoluted situation they all find themselves in now), “will help to make things a bit clearer. Those touched by something outside the human realm are always easier to read.”

“Why?” Izzy asks.

“You're connected to it all,” the Warlock says. She takes the deck of cards and splits it into three piles, re-ordering the thirds before repeating the process. Then she taps the table in front of Izzy. “You first.”

The Warlock spreads the cards across the velvet in a neat arc. “Pass your fingers over the cards, and select the one that hums in your fingers.”

Izzy complies, but even Alec can see that her hand is shaking. She gets to halfway through the splayed deck before she pauses, eyes widening. Then she drops her index finger down and pulls the card from the semi-circle towards herself and the edge of the table.

“Flip it over,” the Warlock says, and Izzy does.

There is a young man on the card holding up a yellow coin, a pentacle engraved into the gold.

“You are re-inventing yourself,” the Warlock explains. “You are molding yourself into your new destiny and role.”

Izzy sits back with a small smile. The Warlock shuffles the deck back together, splits it twice, and repeats the arc; once she is finished, she gestures to Jace. Alec isn't sure that Jace will do it, but the other boy leans forward and, with more confidence than Izzy had, runs his hand over the splay of cards. He gets nearly to the end before he pauses and plucks a card from the line. He doesn't wait before flipping it over.

It's a heavenly being—an angel—and Alec does a double-take when he sees it. The angel is residing up on the clouds and reaching down to the figures below.

“Let go of your past,” the Warlock says, quieter. “You will grow into hidden potentials as long as you remain true to yourself.”

There's a quirk to Jace's expression that shows surprise. The Warlock shuffles, cuts, and spreads again, and this time, she raises her gaze to Alec. There is more there than he saw earlier: almost defiance. She knows he is uneasy, and is goading him into participating. The incense burning behind them is making Alec's head spin, but he figures it can't hurt—it's just a card, after all, and she's not a very strong Warlock.

He leans forward and lets his hand drift over the cards until there's a fierce buzzing in his palm. He almost snaps his hand back at the touch of magic, but doesn't want to look cowardly in front of Izzy and Jace. After a moment's hesitation, he leans forward and takes the card that's humming in his blood.

There is a man, held upside down, and for some reason, it stings deep down in his gut. He sets it down slowly.

The Warlock's eyes flicker between his face and the card. “Give up the illusion of control,” she says, “or else you will never be free to find your path, and will remain bound by the chains forever.”

Alec backs away from the table as if the card, or her words, burned him, but Izzy and Jace are high on the strange, vague truth of it all and eager to hear more. But Alec can see that they are wearing out their welcome, even as he nurses his wrist with his fingers. They aren't paying customers; they are Shadowhunters who dropped by unannounced, and they will overstay if they continue much longer. Already, there is a frown creeping along the Warlock's face.

“We should go,” Alec says, quietly, and Izzy looks at him with a flash of irritation before refocusing on the side of the table, where a list of services—and prices—have been typed out and framed in a deep mahogany wood.

“What does that mean?” Izzy asks, and points to the frame. “Great loves? You can see who we will love in the future?”

The Warlock reshuffles the Tarot deck and sets it to one side. She is tired, and Alec can see it now—perhaps decades of living among Mundanes, who both believe and doubt her ability, has made her weary. Here and now she looks much more like a woman exhausted by life than she does like a Warlock whose existence the Clave takes it upon themselves to monitor.

“I cannot tell you who you will love,” she says, “but each soul has a number of others who could potentially match with them. I cannot say how many of them you will meet or come in contact with; some may die before you meet them, and others you may never stumble across. But there are connections out there that _could_ exist, and I can read that in your lines.”

Izzy shoves her hand forward, excited. “Tell me. Tell me how many.”

“Izzy, we need to go,” Alec murmurs. He is eager to be rid of the place and the too-clear things the Warlock sees. He is afraid that she has already seen his deepest, darkest secret, festering in his core and the rune etched into his side, and he doesn't like the way his nerves are shrieking.

But the Warlock reaches for Izzy's hand and swipes her fingers over the flesh of Izzy's palm, and the rest of Alec's words fall on deaf ears. Izzy looks mesmerized by the movements on her skin, and the Warlock is quiet for a long time with her eyes closed, brow furrowed, before she sighs and opens her eyes again.

“Seven,” she says, as Izzy takes her hand back.

Izzy seems cheered by this prospect; her expression brightens immediately as her mouth tugs up into a wide smile. “Seven?”

Then Jace is moving forward, his fingers stiff as a board. “Tell me.”

The Warlock does the same with Jace's hand, and his takes less time. The Warlock pushes his hand back with something of a wry grin, and says, “Ten.”

“Ha!” Jace exclaims, and falls back in his chair, glancing smugly at Izzy.

The Warlock turns to Alec expectantly, and Alec takes a step back towards the door. Out of reflex, he tucks his hands beneath his arms, as if he can protect them just by keeping her from reading them—as if he can stop the future by denying her the opportunity to reach for it.

“C'mon, guys,” Alec says, and his voice is not nearly as stable as he had hoped. “We really need to go now.”

Izzy and Jace are chattering to each other as they make their way out the door, and Alec just hopes that their excitement over their suggested futures is enough to keep them from questioning him on the way back home. He lets them leave first, to guard their backs, to keep an eye on the Warlock still sitting behind the velvet-laid table, and she watches him with a scrutiny that makes his skin crawl.

–

A week later, he goes back alone.

He goes at the same time of night, when the shadows give the impression of keeping him hidden (though he knows as well as anyone that it's a false security), under the guise of reading, in his room, tactical training books he knows will bore Izzy and Jace by name alone. He slips out and makes his way through the quiet streets of Greenwich, both enjoying and hating the hard feeling of solitude against his skin.

The Warlock does not seem surprised to see him. She is sitting at her table when he enters and the door of the shop dings a little song, and in that moment, if he hadn't known better, Alec _might_ have truly believed that she _could_ see the future, and had prepared for his arrival.

She just smiles, one side of her mouth higher than the other. “I knew you would be back.”

Alec loiters near the entryway to stall, taking another long look at the décor along the walls.

“Are you afraid of knowing?” she asks, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“I don't believe you,” Alec tells her. It's not a very good lie, but she doesn't bother pointing out any of the obvious flaws. She waits for him to slowly cross the room to the folding chair and lower himself into it. He keeps his hands in his lap, jittery and nervous. Why had he thought that returning was a good idea?

(It kept him awake at night, ever since they had gotten back to the Institute, the thought— _don't you want to know, Alec? Aren't you curious, Alec?_ )

With maddeningly gentle movements, the Warlock reaches her hands out, knuckles resting on the tabletop and palms open: an invitation.

Alec hesitates for a very long time before setting his own hand palm up on hers.

Her eyes flutter closed, and she almost sinks into the floor as her shoulders unclench. There's a moment of nothing, when Alec is sure that he should snatch his hand back and leave immediately, and then her whole face shifts. Her expression falls into something open and _knowing_ , in a way that makes Alec queasy.

“Oh,” she says, very soft, and lets go of Alec's hand.

He pulls his fingers back as if he's been burnt. “What is it?”

“You didn't know if you even wanted to come here,” the Warlock says. “You still have the chance to leave if you wish to turn back.”

“How many?” Alec whispers, the apprehension a knot in his throat.

“One,” she tells him.

It might as well be a physical blow for how badly it hurts, straight down to his toes. Alec recoils in his chair and nearly knocks it, and himself, over. There's a horrible sort of pounding in his chest, the kind that echoes the things he tells himself every single night: _you are wrong, you are bad, you are awful_.

“But—but Izzy and Jace had—” he tries, and can't get any of the words out right. He stands up and _does_ knock the chair over then; the sound of it is harsh and loud even to his ringing ears. He keeps his hand held close to his chest, nursing it, trying to fix the horrible weight that has settled around him.

“Show me your Mark,” he demands. “How do I know you aren't lying?”

The Warlock stares at him with utmost calm, and for a second, Alec is afraid she might attack him. Then the skin of her hands transforms into translucent scales that disappear up under her wide shirt sleeves, and he stares them for a heartbeat, then two, before they fade into unblemished skin once more.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” she says.

Alec flees the shop without another word.

On the way home, he hugs his jacket closer to his neck, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and wonders which thought is worse: that it's Jace (and the road is a closed, impossible one Alec knows he can't follow) or that it's not.

–

Alec remembers her, and her prediction, when he is standing out among the neon lights behind the Hunter's Moon and his heart is hammering all the way up to the back of his tongue. There's an itch in his fingers that he tries to rid by jiggling his hands at his sides, but it never quite goes away, and Magnus is a closed-off shell of himself with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

“I don't think I can live without you,” Alec says, and the startled, bewildered, _desperate_ expression on Magnus' face is almost enough to do him in right there. Angels know he's made mistakes, and Alec knows himself well enough to realize there are more still to come, but the Warlock's palm reading surfaces, just beneath his thoughts, and he knows that she was right.

_One._

The tightness eases in his chest—it doesn't feel like a curse any longer. Instead, it feels a lot like a blessing.

Alec smiles, and knows he will follow this to the end of himself, whenever that may be.

**Author's Note:**

> come bug me on [tumblr](http://aerodaltonimperial.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
